


we were born and raised in a summer haze

by papered



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:33:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papered/pseuds/papered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Eames is a photographer and Arthur is his new model.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we were born and raised in a summer haze

The first time Eames meets Arthur, he's having a horrible day.

The main model for the Ferragamo shoot is running late, the stylists have somehow misplaced half the clothing, and Eames has two more appointments back-to-back after this that he can't be late for but he can't start the shoot because _there is no model_.

He has someone call HQ to complain about this, and it turns out that no, the model isn't just late, the model _isn't coming_ at all because they've somehow double-booked and Fischer is probably on a plane to Milan as they speak.

So when Dom Cobb shoves a young man in front of Eames and says they can use him as the model instead, Eames doesn't ask too many questions.

"Arthur Dunhill," the man says, his eyes dark and serious. He holds out a hand, and Eames grasps it distractedly, too busy running appraising eyes over him. He's younger than Eames expected, but he's tall with angular features and a slim, almost delicate figure. He's no Fischer, but he'll do, Eames thinks critically, before shoving him at wardrobe and makeup.

He comes out fifteen minutes later with hair teased into a voluminous mess and dressed to perfection in a striped ensemble, finished off with a dark grey trenchcoat.

"Lights a little more to the center please," he says, waiting as the girl hovering by the edge of the shoot does as he asks.

Arthur's inexperience is quite obvious to a seasoned photographer like Eames - and Eames vaguely wonders how he ended up as a backup for a company like Ferragamo - but he follows instructions to a T and is easy to direct. "A little more intensity, darling, and less tension at the mouth, there we go," Eames says, keeping his voice coaxing as he snaps a few dozen shots.

It all wraps up soon enough, and Eames notes with relief that he still has twenty-something minutes left until he's due across the city for the Cartier shoot. Grabbing his equipment, he steps out of the building while pulling on his coat, and is trying to see if there's a free taxi anywhere when he becomes aware of the figure standing beside him, probably waiting for the same.

Eames has no idea how Arthur had managed to get out as quickly as he had, but he has regular clothing on again and his face is once more makeup-free. "It was a pleasure working with you, Mr. Eames," Arthur says, smiling a little, and there's a dimple tucked high in his left cheek. Eames has seen too many beautiful people in his line of work and he hadn't thought Arthur particularly remarkable earlier, but out here away from the studio, he looks different somehow, all frayed hoodies and loose limbs. His expression is relaxed - natural - and it's cliché but Eames suddenly wishes he hadn't packed his equipment way so that he can capture the way the afternoon sunlight hits Arthur's hair, turning it a golden-brown.

Realizing that he'd been staring, Eames looks away. "You as well," he says quickly. "I've never seen you around before though."

"I've mostly been modeling part-time," Arthur replies with an easy shrug, then motions to the yellow cab that had just pulled up to the pavement. "Taxi's here - you can go first."

"Thanks," Eames says gratefully, checking his watch again - fifteen minutes left - as he pulls open the back door and puts his equipment in first. He's getting in himself when Arthur suddenly steps forward.

"Wait," he says with a crooked smile, then holds out a small white business card. "Please, take this."

Eames does so with a nod, and then he's stuffing it into his pocket and slamming the door shut while he gives the address to the driver, and Eames will tip him triple if they could get there within the next fifteen minutes, please.

 

It's not until he's digging out his pockets so that he can send his clothing to the dry cleaner's over the weekend that he takes out the card again and sees the personal number scrawled on the back in black sharpie.

Eames laughs and picks up his phone.


End file.
